


fire

by cloudburst



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, a few weeks after 2x20, just wanted some injury, vague af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 00:07:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12737055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudburst/pseuds/cloudburst
Summary: As he falls asleep, at least he thinks this is sleep—does not think it could be anything else—he hears the sound of Isabelle's sobs. He believes it is too late to stop her tears, so he does not try.And the sound is not enough for him to ignore the black that embraces him.





	fire

**Author's Note:**

> i just want more injured alec idk

They say fire consumes everything in its path—mass destruction, all turned to ash beneath its trail. They say Shadowhunters are skilled warriors—dangerous carnage, all demons turned to bitter ichor beneath their blades. But fire will consume even the bravest of the Nephilim, Alec is learning this first hand, burning sensation tearing through his abdomen like the vengeance of a spurned seelie. He is both fire and Shadowhunter, yet the two do not mix—at least not anymore, as venom burns through his veins fierce as flame. 

He feels himself hit the ground. It is warm beneath him, he thinks. But that could just be his blood—lightheaded, he is not sure. And he swears there is a voice yelling, no, _screaming_ his name, but it is far off, drowned by the cacophony of his own body: heart beating (barely), shallow breaths (rarely). He never thought it possible to exist as fire and ice in unison, but now he knows the truth, that one can—he feels so cold, but it _burns_.

_Magnus, it burns._ He thinks it is said aloud, yet he now also thinks that he is laying in a far off bed in Brooklyn—yellow sheets and yellow sunlight covering him: only explanation for why he is so warm, so at home. 

As he falls asleep, at least he thinks this is sleep—does not think it could be anything else—he hears the sound of Isabelle's sobs. He believes it is too late to attempt to stop her tears, so he does not try. 

And the sound is not enough for him to ignore the black that embraces him.

* * *

It is all frantic movement—red and yellow light swelling from fingertips painted darkest black—as the night, as his determination, as Alexander's chances. It is concentration, beads of sweat rolling from his forehead, slick across his temples—hair sticking to his head. Alec would brush it back for him. But he cannot, as he exists in his prone form on the couch and as the subject of Isabelle's prayers to the angel. It is her soft whispers carried to Magnus—to the heavens. 

_"By the Angel, save my brother."_

Magnus will not let this go, not mere weeks after getting him back. The light burns brighter, as do his efforts and will. Alexander will not succumb to this, will not be lost anymore than he was trying to track Jace through his parabatai rune. He will prevail, and Magnus ensures that.

There is an exhale—long, drawn to the end. "Please, Alexander."

* * *

It is not until Alec's pulse has stabilized—the fire no longer burning through his blood, that Magnus allows himself a moment of reprieve. Yet it is not a win as Alec remains unawakened, and Magnus remains without his victory. 

Isabelle sleeps on the other couch as he steps to the balcony overlooking the city—crisp air encompassing him. And it is not until he listens, truly listens, that he hears a faint voice seemingly carried across the air. It is in the back of his head, a whisper: _Magnus, it burns._ And his voice is caught in his throat, for Alexander is unconscious—yet: _Magnus, it burns._ It is repeated as a mantra, his last thoughts: _Magnus, it burns._

It is as if the stars above—the ones he cannot very well see beneath the pollution of the city—it is as if they are laughing at him. He wishes they would stop, allow him a break, but they do not. How can they? He has allowed the age-old myth to become his reality. 

_"Be careful, Danilo. Use too much of your healing magic on one individual you suspect to die—and well, you will be able to hear their last thought as a mantra, till their death or your madness. Unless, of course, you succeed."_

_"Thanks, Magnus. But I got this."_

He has forsaken his own warnings, yet as his apartment blazes with red and yellow light—and with the movement of the individuals within—it is that he hears the words again. 

_Magnus, it burns._

He sounds broken—shifts in his sleep. The words are repeating, increasing in their intensity. Alexander will not die here, not now. Isabelle is oblivious, stretched out on the other couch, back to the two of them. Alec gasps in pain; it's as if his unconscious body still feels fire blazing from the tips of his toes to his brain—skin and heart magma, head unbearable. 

Magnus begins to feel himself slipping from the effort, his own sweat paralleled by Alec's dark hair matted to his forehead. This is not happening—but he needs rest, needs something. So he sits at the floor near the edge of the couch—offers the most genuine smile he can muster, and leans his head forward to rest on Alec's arm. 

It is not until he awakens, hours later, that the voice in his head changes. A breeze moves throughout the apartment as Isabelle stirs—sitting up to look at Magnus and her unconscious brother. 

_Magnus, I'm cold._

He checks to make sure Alexander's breath is still there—albeit shallow. It is as if ice shards reside in his chest, breath subtle and chilled. 

It takes minutes for his breath to stop from that point—mere moments for Magnus to collapse, for Isabelle to scream.

But it takes mere seconds after that for Alec to gasp—breath coming in short bursts. Isabelle sighs in relief, Magnus grasping for Alec's hand—his arm, his face. 

"God, Alexander, I—"

"Magnus? I'm glad you're okay."

He cannot help the laughter that bubbles up from his chest, pushing outward with nowhere else to go. "Me?"

"I had an awful dream. You—overexerted yourself, trying to save me, and you were so cold, I was so cold and Magnus I—" A pause, Magnus looking at him with the stars in his eyes. "I know I've said it before, but I can't live in a world without you."

"Me neither, Alexander."

**Author's Note:**

> lemme know what ya think


End file.
